


Winter Wonderland

by CoffeeCurse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apologies, Christmas fic, Family Fluff, Feelings, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Not Beta Read, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Severus Snape Lives, Snape has interesting hobbies, Snowboarding, advent concert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28284135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeCurse/pseuds/CoffeeCurse
Summary: „Servus,” people greeted, and Harry waved awkwardly in reply. Maybe Snape also just liked that ’Hello’ here sounded so much like his name. Who knew, honestly…Harry would leave him to it after he had his answers.OR Harry doesn't know what he wants from Snape, but he followed him to Austria anyway.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape
Kudos: 16





	Winter Wonderland

When Harry travelled to the community of Ritterstadt, Austria, two years after the war, it was sadly not to hit the slopes close-by, no, it was to seek the aid—well, beg for the council—of one Severus Snape.

Why Snape had decided to move all the way to the continent—and to Austria at that—was anyone's guess. But apparently, this little wizarding town in the Alps had made quite the impression.

Harry looked around the snowy landscape. It was pretty; he had to give Snape that. The houses all had those pretty wooden balconies and shutters, and it felt a bit like entering a fairytale. Snape lived still farther up, likely avoiding even the last of human contact. There were cross-country ski trails on most pavements; people apparently _skied_ to work here! But then, why would that impress Snape?

Harry still remembered the day McGonagall had informed him of Snape’s departure.

„He has what?” he’d said.

„Don't take that tone with me, Mr Potter,” she’d replied, perfectly rigid, „Severus wishes to return to his potions research. If I must say so myself he was never a passionate teacher. Don’t look so down…you’ve not interacted with him in a long time. Your perception of his personality may be more favourable than it deserves to be.”

Now, Harry was not, in fact, too dense to understand _why_ Snape figured himself unpopular in Britain. But this seemed a tad extreme; that was all.

„He prefers for his location to remain secret,” McGonagall continued. „If you wish to see him _that badly_ you should try so through official channels. But…” and she’d looked him gravely in the eyes at that. „He is not interested in further acquaintance with anyone from Britain. Severus surely owes many people answers; however, some acquaintanceships are better off ending with a fade-out rather than a blow-out fight.”

And so Harry had let it go and not demanded explanations…for the moment.

Today too, he was _officially_ here to seek answers about a mysterious substance found in the bodies of a few dead Vampires in a wizarding village in the South of Wales. _Unofficially_ , well…

„Servus,” people greeted, and Harry waved awkwardly in reply. Maybe Snape also just liked that ’Hello’ here sounded so much like his name. Who knew, honestly…

Harry would leave him to it after he had his answers.

As it was already late at night, Harry decided to postpone his visit for tomorrow. It was Sunday, and he figured too, that nobody took well to unannounced calls by unwelcome former students—even if they had official business to show for it.

Therefore, Harry checked into his accommodation and then went out in search of some food. His wizarding phone rang while he looked through a few souvenir shops, and he pressed it to his ear to be met with Hermione’s voice.

„Happy Advent season, Harry,” she said. „How’re you?”

„Hungry? Isn’t it like 6 am where you’re at?”

„5 am, actually. And I cannot sleep because it is so impossibly hot. Yesterday, I sipped on a coconut…while at the beach…Godric, it’s so impossible to get into a good Christmas mood over here. Ron loves it thought. He’s doing a surfing course this week.”

„You think you’ll ever be able to convince your parents to move back?”

„I doubt it.” She sighed. „But it’s okay. A sunny Christmas every two years is a small price to pay for them being comfortable. How is Austria? You know you don’t have to celebrate alone, do you? Hop on an international portkey and come over!”

Harry bit his lip, walking on to a Christmas market selling steamy crêpes. There was a crowd of people ahead next to the local church. Maybe he would find evening entertainment there.

„I know,” he said, „But I was thinking of travelling a bit. Next year things will be less awkward with Ginny, and we’ll all be back with the Weasleys.”

„Fine,” she said which implied the opposite. But she went on to tell him about all the fascinating museums she’d already dragged Ron to in Sydney and Melbourne and how they would likely also visit more in New Zealand before they came back.

_My condolences, mate,_ Harry thought.

She also told him about all the fascinating places close to _his_ location he should visit. Though Harry figured he’d much rather learn how to snowboard, than visit some Gothic church close by.

He finally cut her off when he arrived at the church entrance. A few old ladies were handing out mulled wine, and the sign said that there would be an advent concert tonight. Harry thought that sounded like something to kill the time. He told Hermione to try sleeping and got himself a ticket.

„Guten Abend,” said the moderator, when half an hour later they were all seated in the neat church benches. „Willkommen zum jährlichen Adventskonzert.” Harry didn’t really understand what the man said, so he tuned out. It was fairly chilly, and most people still wore their coats, and he pulled his scarf closer around his neck.

He glanced around fascinated with how different this church looked than those back in England. The Dursleys had gone to church…sometimes…well, whenever Mrs Wavely from across the street asked why they’d missed the last two weeks, and Petunia had been scared what the neighbourhood would think. They’d never taken Harry obviously. But still. Churches did feel very Christmassy, didn’t they?

Harry looked back to the stage, partially hidden behind a few snowy trees and an orchestra. He felt a bit out of place. This was the kind of thing Hermione dragged him to, not one he entered voluntarily.

Then the orchestra began to play, and Harry simply closed his eyes. His thoughts drifted to how he could convince Snape to even talk to him tomorrow. Maybe he could polyjuice himself and go undercover. Work himself closer. Or he could just take Snape captive and hold him at wand point until he got satisfying information.

On what...he still had to figure that one out.

He just didn’t know how to formulate his…instincts...properly; that was all.

_„Iiiiii’m dreeeeeaming of whiiiiiite Christmas,”_ a deep voice began to sing. Harry knew this song! He swayed silently in his seat. The voice felt like hot chocolate: full, hearty, but sweet. The kind of voice you could melt into. He felt cosy warm in his scarf. This had been a good idea even if it seemed far too high culture for him.

_„Haaaaave yourself aaaa merryyyy little Christmaaas,”_ the next song started, and Harry opened his eyes slowly. It was odd that so many songs were sung in English. Did the Austrians not have their own Christmas songs?

He glanced to the front, eyes fluttering over the singer standing centrally in front of the choir; a man, black hair cut just above the shoulder. Then his gaze snapped back. He blinked—

And blinked—

And blinked again—

That couldn’t be, could it? Was that—

No!—

Severus Snape stood there, an elegant muggle suit tightly fitted to his lean form, singing at the top of his lungs. And Harry…Harry could do nothing but click his mouth shut with a loud sound.

This—

This was somehow very disturbing. He just couldn’t picture Snape anywhere outside his billowing black robes, his hair slick with potion fumes. Certainly not dressed like this. And singing? On a stage? In front of a fairly large audience? Impossible! He would have literally bet his firebolt that Snape listened to _no_ music whatsoever. And if. He seemed more of a heavy metal type to him. Thought, that image was just as disturbing if he was honest.

Harry startled when around him everyone started to clap, and he mechanically lifted his hands and joined in. Snape bowed and then walked to the right, retaking his place in the rows of the choir. Harry followed his stride with his eyes.

Merlin's Beard!

Under normal circumstances, Harry would have left the church right after the concert was done. But somehow he couldn’t move his feet to the door. He couldn’t get up. Just sat in his place while around him the people mingled, chatting to each other over a bit of drink and cake.

„To what, may I ask, do I owe the pleasure of your attendance, Mr Potter,” a drawl came from above him, and Harry nearly jumped out of his chair. It felt like he was back in school, and Snape had caught him passing letters to Ron.

„Professor… sir,” he said, trailing off awkwardly.

„Not any more, as you may have noticed during your last year of schooling.”

Harry chuckled, mortified. Where was that Gryffindor bravery when you needed it? This was not how he had imagined this reunion. He had wanted to take Snape off guard, but then that had been a futile endeavour from the beginning, hadn't it?

„Have you been spelt mute?” Snape asked, sitting down the row in front of him.

„No, sir,” Harry said. „I was just surprised that you noticed me in the crowd, is all.”

He dared to meet Snape’s eyes. The penetrating stare was still the same. But everything else seemed different. Snape now looked like a high society German, and somehow seemed younger than Harry had ever seen him.

„The time away from teaching seems to be suiting you well, sir,” Harry said before he could bite that foolish tongue off. Snape’s eyebrows raised slightly.

„Don’t hurt yourself, Mr Potter. But yes…children are something I’ve had enough of for a lifetime. The same with the Cruciatus Curse and snake venom. Now, I would like to know what you are doing in my town? I don’t believe for a second that this is a place you find yourself perchance!”

Harry tried to remember that he had a spine. In any case, it would have to do for this conversation.

„I’ve come for council on a substance.”

„I see. So it's something about ten other specialists could consult on just as well, am I right? Two of them in Britain. Try again!”

Harry drew his lip between his teeth. How was he going to formulate this?

„I don’t know…It seemed convenient to combine it with a ... skiing holiday?”

„Are you asking _me_?” Snape got to his feet. „Then, I’m sure you don’t mind waiting for my examination. I’m actually on holiday myself. Christmas is a mere 10 days away, and I’m a freelancer. You can bring the potion to me _after_ New Years.”

With those words, he got up so sharply, that Harry believed to see an illusion of his cloak billowing behind him. Before he could call after him, Snape was already gone.

* * *

Harry could, of course, not just leave dejected. Two days later a letter arrived, saying that the substance had been identified by some Unspeakable and that the culprit had been caught.

Harry glared at the paper long after he’d finished reading. _Happy Christmas_ it said at the bottom. Happy Christmas indeed!

He sighed. So this would be a snowboarding holiday then? It had been quite the while since he gifted something to himself. So that very day Harry went out and bought a snowboard, shoes and some skiing clothes.

It might have been a lot of money to spend on a hobby he had yet to discover, but then…he’d wanted this particular board because of its lightning bolt design. And he was easy to please, okay? It was the type of inside joke that cheered him up, when he stopped the lift embarrassingly many times, his ass soaking wet and aching from the amount of time spent sitting and falling.

On his second day, he seemed to have already severely improved. He even discovered the beauty of fresh snow. It was so fluffy, and it felt like riding waves.

„Potter,” someone called while he was resting on top of a hillside. „Do you actually wish to die?”

Harry looked up, confused and couldn’t believe his eyes when he found a skier _walking up_ the slope towards him. Sticks were rammed into the snow next to his hand, and a nose very distinctly recognisable pointed down at him. Snape pulled his goggles from his eyes and glared at Harry.

„You do know that every sane person wears a helmet?” he asked. Harry frowned.

„Not everyone wears them!” he said. He’d gotten this very cool bonnet instead, which he’d seen on other snowboarders.

„No. The adrenaline-hungry, _insane_ individuals don’t!” Snape snapped. He twisted his wrist, and suddenly his wand appeared from the sleeve, conjuring up a simple black helmet.

„Wear this! I did not get severe Nagini poisoning for you to die in such a plebeian way!”

Harry couldn’t help but grin in response to that. He took the helmet into his hands. From the look he received from Snape, he very much considered Harry a case for the Janus Thickey Ward.

„What are you doing up here?” Harry asked. It seemed very coincidental that he met Snape here of all places. But then the area wasn’t that extensive.

„I’m working out,” Snape said. „It’s healthy.” He looked at the snowboard, then snorted. Then he pulled his ski poles from the snow and continued walking upwards leaving Harry to gape after him.

„What are you doing?” Harry called. Why would anyone walk up? How was this even possible? It made no sense. That’s what the lifts were for.

„It’s much more fun, Potter,” Snape said over his shoulder, „to ski down a slope you climbed yourself. Much more rewarding.”

Harry was still confused by the encounter when he lay back in his bed at the inn. He realised that he’d never before thought that Snape had such a thing as hobbies. And here he was singing in a choir and skiing. What would he discover tomorrow?

* * *

Harry had never been a person to leave things to chance, so he decided to visit Snape at home the next day. Hermione would likely say that he was intruding on privacy, maybe even harassing, so he decided to ring the doorbell with chocolates and a gold cauldron and leave when Snape inevitably sent him away. He should…would respect if Snape considered his need to talk unwelcome.

„Potter,” Snape sighed when he pulled his door open. He wore flannel pants and a comfortable sweater, all in a dark blue. Harry was glad it was not one of those ugly Christmassy ones. This much _casualness_ was already too much for his nerves.

„Snape,” he said because again his vocal cords seemed entirely unable to formulate anything cohesive.

„I will not be rid of you until we talk…at length…is that it?” Snape asked.

„Ahem,” Harry said.

„Very well. Leave your shoes at the door; I do not appreciate any snow in my living room.” Harry followed him, unable to do anything but glance about, taking in Snape’s decoration. It was all very classy and simple, but there was a pretty tree next to the fireplace with some enchanted lights fluttering around it. Harry put the cauldron and the chocolate on a table in the hallway and then entered the living room on socked feet.

„Are you celebrating Christmas with friends?” Harry asked. Snape glanced back, informing him wordlessly that his information gathering was entirely unappreciated.

„My chess club has a little celebration on the 21st. And the potions guild has an event on the 23rd. I will enjoy keeping the company of my books from the 24th to New Years. It’s family time for everyone, Mr Potter.”

Harry was decidedly sure that Snape implied he did not envy people with such 'families'.

„Well,” he said, „I suppose we are in the same boat then.”

„No Weasleys? No Granger?”

„Ron and Hermione are in Australia because her parents refuse to move back. And Gin and I broke up, and Mrs Weasley is very weird about it. It is making everyone uncomfortable.”

Snape just turned.

„Tea?” he asked.

„Yes, please.”

„Any preferences?”

„Something fruity?”

Snape wrinkled his nose but nodded. Harry followed him into the kitchen to watch him get fresh peppermint from his stores and a tea blend which smelled like mango.

„One of my violinist acquaintances informed me that this distasteful sweet stuff is very much to her liking, so I hope it will be to your satisfaction.”

„Did you grow these yourself?” Harry asked, walking around and looking at the kitchen drawer, which was just as neatly stocked and covered in preservation charms as the potions stores back at Hogwarts. All types of herbs neatly lined up.

„I did,” Snape said. „I have a greenhouse under a Notice-Me-Not charm in the back which has the ideal temperature for a multitude of plants. I dislike buying at the supermarket. They put so many pesticides on everything.”

„All your food?”

„Most. I don’t have to plant them by hand like potions ingredients. Magic does not bother the plants' growth, and it isn’t harmful if residue remains for ingesting. Potion, as you hopefully know, have the tendency to blow up if the ingredients were magically grown.”

„Because the potion gets too hot?”

Snape nodded, „Some potions can deal with that much input energy, but most simply explode to release it again.” Harry felt relieved. He’d studied so much last year, but his insecurity for potions would likely never disappear even when he’d gotten an E on his NEWT.

„Take a seat, Potter. I don’t like you hovering over my shoulder. Take the time to think up some questions.”

When Snape returned to the living room a little later, Harry was still just as confused why he was here, as before. Snape took one look at him and sighed. He simply handed over the tea and sat down on the big sofa. With a flick of his hand, a record player started to play in the corner. It was all very cosy, and Harry wrung his hands, staring down at them.

„Am I right, Mr Potter, that you don’t really know why you are here at all? You must know that I am no psychotherapist, right? Whatever troubles you are facing at the moment, I can hardly help you.”

„I want…to talk about my mother.”

Snape sipped on his tea, then leaned back. „There are surely other people who knew her better than I did. Especially at the end of her life. I have barely talked to her since we were fifteen.”

„I feel like everyone who knew her well is dead.”

„Very well” Snape sighed. „Your mother was a very head-strong person. She was passionate and kind, but also very unforgiving. I suppose I have no right to criticise this. She was brilliant with magic, but whenever she was unable to do something after the first few tries, she lost all interest in achieving it.” Snape stared into the light of his Christmas tree.

„Why did you never tell her that you loved her?” Harry did not know why he cared about this. To be honest, he already regretted asking-

Snape coloured a bit. Then turned his gaze away. „She knew. I wasn't very subtle. I think it made her uncomfortable, which is fair enough. We were friends. Practically family. You cannot force people to love you the way you want them too, Mr Potter. But I suppose I don’t need to tell you that. Romantic love can turn to hatred very fast. I've projected all that hatred onto you. I've had some time to reflect on it since the war.”

„So you hated me for her too. That seems conflicting. But then Hermione would likely have something to say about it..."

„Hate is an easy emotion, Potter. Easier than guilt, in any case. I could use that hatred to fool the Dark Lord time and again. But it was also a matter of self-delusion. I’m a bitter man. But I’m trying to let go of harmful emotions now. They have hurt me long enough. And I…apologise for my despicable behaviour towards you. I thought the two of us would be better of never meeting again, but you deserve to hear this apology all the same.”

Harry looked down at his hands, then chuckled. "You sound like a psychotherapist; you may want to change careers. But, thanks.” 

"I _am_ seeing a therapist once a week. If you haven't, you definitely should. Getting better starts with the decision to heal." Snape got to his feet and pulled a book from one of the bookshelves, which reached all the way to the ceiling.

„There,” he said. „Those are the photographs I still have of my childhood. You mother is in some of them.” He handed it to Harry and sat back down again, a book of his own in hand.

Harry stared at the cover for a long time. Then he opened the first page.

Maybe he shouldn’t feel this peaceful here. But somehow, he liked the tranquillity. His life was often far too loud. Soft classical music in the background, a warm fireplace, a few pillows; it was nice.

Maybe this was just the place to be, this Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! I don't know where this fic came from...but here we are ;)


End file.
